Chapter Eleven: Not According to Plan

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Jerydonn. I let that name roll off my tongue.

I glanced up at the man. He was looking at me, his eyes flickering up and down my face as if he was looking for some reaction.

Does he think I know Dr Jerydonn? He must be looking for any recognition from me.

The spiky-haired man sat back down. Having answered that question, the man turned to the guards.

"Strap them in," he ordered.

No.

I struggled against the man's grip, but he stared daggers into my eyes, as if warning, "You're not the one with the choice here."

The moment the guards managed to strap Christopher in, which was doubly hard coupled with the fact that he could not see, four staff in white coats rushed over. Three of them took out lethal-looking syringes and placed them gently into our wrists. The fourth walked over to another part of the machine and placed some purple sample onto the surface.

I tried to find Scover, but he was behind Christopher on the right side.

"We're ready, sir," the staff replied.

The man gave them a curt nod. "Let us begin."

Oh no...

The crowd was leaning so far in front of the barrier that they looked like they were bowing. All conversations ceased and everyone drew their attention towards us.

And the serum.

Not bearing to look at the crowd and their eyes, full with anticipation and excitement, I closed my eyes and could only pray that it would be a quick death.

"As you can see, the staff are using holographic shields to analyse where the cells are," Mr Weaber narrated. I winced, wishing that I was deaf and did not need to hear his voice.

We were too late.

We are hopeless.

Nothing can save us now.

Just centimetres from my face, I heard one of the scientists gasp. She attempted to muffle it, but I had already registered her shock.

What's wrong with me?

"Mr Weaber, where may we purchase this technology?" A female voice that sounded like she was middle-aged, asked somewhere on my left.

"Sadly, I have yet to perfect this piece of technology, so you can expect it to go on the market at least a..." Mr Weaber trailed off, distracted by something.

"Sir!" I heard a man call. Unable to resist the impulse, my eyes snapped open. One of the guards was standing in the doorway of the entrance, and every single pair of eyes was on him.

"What's wrong?" Mr Weaber replied, holding out a palm to halt the staff.

"I- there's someone at the entrance."

It happened so quickly. One moment, the crowd was staring at the guard curiously, and the next moment they were all scrambling for the entrance. Panic rippled through the crowd, and even Mr Weaber could not calm them down. Their screams were cries of fear, fear of an unknown enemy that I could only identify by what they were crying.

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